“Quite, quite! I understand. But if you want any assistance.... Or do you expect me to investigate?”
“I thought it my duty, as his godfather, to see to the child’s spiritual welfare,” said Crashaw, ignoring the question put to him, “although he is not, now, one of my parishioners. I first went to Pym some few months ago, but the mother interposed between me and the child. I was not permitted to see him. It was not until a few weeks back that I met him—on the Common; alone. Of course, I recognised him at once. He is quite unmistakable.”
“And then?” prompted Challis.
“I spoke to him, and he replied with, with—an abstracted air, without looking at me. He has not the appearance in any way of a normal child. I made a few ordinary remarks to him, and then I asked him if he knew his catechism. He replied that he did not know the word ‘catechism.’ I may mention that he speaks the dialect of the common people, but he has a much larger vocabulary. His mother has taught him to read, it appears.”
“He seems to have a curiously apt intelligence,” interpolated Challis.
Crashaw wrung his clasped hands and put the comment on one side. “I then spoke to him of some of the broad principles of the Church’s teaching,” he continued. “He listened quietly, without interruption, and when I stopped, he prompted me with questions.”
“One minute!” said Challis. “Tell me; what sort of questions? That is most important.”
“I do not remember precisely,” returned Crashaw, “but one, I think, was as to the sources of the Bible. I did not read anything beyond simple and somewhat unusual curiosity into those questions, I may say.... I talked to him for some considerable time—I dare say for more than an hour....”
“No signs of idiocy, apparently, during all this?”
“I consider it less a case of idiocy than one of possession, maleficent possession,” replied Crashaw. He did not see his host’s grim smile.